


Patterns of Id

by wildair7



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 14:42:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13766325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildair7/pseuds/wildair7
Summary: An obvious personality change among the Bridge members, brings questions as to the cause.





	Patterns of Id

**Patterns of ID**

By

 

Janelle Holmes

 

     Dr. Leonard McCoy looked again at the latest computer readout on the crew’s annual physicals. It wasn’t possible his bio-comps could have made a mistake. Nevertheless, he ran the data through one more time, and once more the results were identical: the brain patterns of all Bridge personnel had changed…drastically!  Biologically, they were no longer the same persons.

      Vexed, he turned to the intercom, flipping the toggle. “McCoy to Bridge.”

     “Bridge,” answered Uhura’s sultry voice.

     “Let me speak to the captain.”

     A short silence followed, until Kirk spoke. “What is it, Bones?”

     McCoy rubbed his hand across his forehead. “Jim, would you come down here? There’s something you should see. And, if Spock’s up there, bring him, too. I need another opinion. A scientific one.”

     “Sure. See you in a few minutes. Kirk out.”

 

     The Captain of The Enterprise was naturally puzzled, especially when McCoy asked for Spock’s opinion.

     “Spock, you heard?”

     “Yes, sir. Matters here are sufficiently under control for me to accompany you to Sick Bay. I must admit I am rather curious as to the doctor’s requesting my presence.”

     “Me, too. Mr. Scott, you have the com.” The two men left unhurriedly through the swooshing doors of the turbo lift, neither speaking during the short journey from the floor below or down the short journey to Sick Bay.

     As they walked through the automatic doors, opening to Sick Bay, McCoy turned then signaled the two officers to join him at the bio-comp viewer.

     “See that encephalogram, Spock? That’s yours.”

     The Vulcan barely studied the peaks and valleys of the moving graph. “Doctor, I assure you that is not mine. I am well acquainted with my own brain patterns, and those are not they.”

     “Damnit,” replied McCoy, slamming his fist on the console surface in obvious frustration, “they are! Don’t argue with me. I’ve checked and double checked. Those _are_ your brain waves.”

    “And I maintain they are not. In fact, if anything, they resemble more closely my father’s than my own.”

    “Hmm, is that so. Maybe that accounts for your over-Vulcanistic behavior lately.”

    “I beg your pardon, Doctor?”

    “Is this what you called us for, Bones?” Kirk asked, interrupting the discourse between the two other men, not the least amused at the display between his First Officer and Chief Surgeon.

     “Partly. What I called you in for is actually this,” he said and placed Kirk’s own brain pattern on the screen, halved with his previous ones, “and this…and this…and this…and this.” One by one, the previous and present patterns of Scott, Sulu, Uhura, and Chekov also flashed across the viewscreen.

     “Fascinating,” Spock remarked, seeing the comparisons. “An obvious personality switch.”

    “What did you say, Spock?” asked Kirk.

     The First Officer stepped up to the huge bio-comp screen, made a few adjustments then set the previously shown patterns on the screen. “As you will notice, Doctor, the configurations of Lieutenant Uhura’s scan are now those of Mr. Scott, and his are hers, likewise the patterns of Lieutenant Sulu and Ensign Chekov have traded.”

     “Then how do you explain the change in Jim’s?” McCoy probed. “Please, don’t tell me he has your old brain patterns.”

     “He most definitely does not, but I would suggest a comparison of his present ones with those of all other crewmembers, not only the Bridge members.”

     “I’ve already done that. Besides, the Bridge crew is the only one that has undergone this ‘switch.’ It’s virtually isolated to that section of the ship.”

     “What of the temporary Bridge crew?” Kirk questioned.

     “No affect. Just regular Bridge members.”

     “Are there any other irregularities?” Kirk asked the doctor.

     “No, none. Do you or Spock ‘feel’ differently than before? Do you react to situations the same as previously?”

     “Previous when, Doctor?” Spock responded. “When did this change occur? It is possible, is it not, it could have occurred shortly after the last regular physical, nearly a full year ago?”

     “I’d thought of that. No, I don’t know when it happened. I’m not a psychic, just a doctor. You want me to start using a crystal ball to make my diagnoses, Spock?”

     In answer, the Vulcan merely raised a slanted black eyebrow.

     “What do you plan to do, Bones?” said Jim.

     “That’s just it,” he said, throwing his arms in the air. “I don’t know what to do. That’s why I wanted Spock here; I thought maybe he might have some idea of how to proceed.”

     “I fear, Doctor, I am just as bewildered as you and have no notion what the cause of these anomalies could be.”

     “I don’t believe it!” McCoy muttered. “I don’t believe it. He actually doesn’t know.”

    “Nevertheless,” Spock continued, “I shall devote as much time as possible to analyze the problem and every facet it contains. However, if you will excuse me, there are other duties I must also perform.” And he left without further words.

     Kirk turned to McCoy. “He _is_ a bit more Vulcan than usual. Strange I hadn’t noticed it til now.” He paused, walking over to the bio-comp to study his own brain scans. “You know, I’ve been thinking about what you asked a while ago, about whether or not I ‘felt’ different, and I do recall one, minor item, which I believed insignificant at the time.”

     “Oh, what?”

     “I don’t care much for women, lately. They seem so…so false.”

     “Mind explaining that?” asked McCoy, casually passing a medi-scanner across Kirk’s chest, reading it then putting it on a nearby console surface.

     Kirk glanced at the medi-scanner suspiciously. “I don’t really know. It simply seems every time they open their mouths in casual conversation, everything they say is contrived, not really what they think.”

     “When did you stop trusting women?”

     “I’ve never truly trusted them, you know. After all, they all want just one thing from me.”

     “Any women in particular impress you this way, more than others?”

     “Yes, now you mention it, Uhura has been pretty chummy the last few days.”

     “Hmm, ‘chummy’ you say?”

     “Yeah, you know, always inventing excuses to speak to me, especially when I’m alone.”

     “Uh-huh.”

     “Listen, Bones, if this is all you needed me for, I think I’d better get back to the Bridge.”

     “Sure, I guess I’m done for now. See you later when you’re off duty?”

     “Yeah, right. See ya.” And Kirk left, the usual characteristic spring to his walk absent.

 

     When Kirk arrived back on the Bridge, things appeared quite normal, until Uhura began to answer with a thick Scottish brogue and Scotty began to sing in a lilting tenor while he monitored the work of his assistants. Likewise, Chekov now spoke with the Harvard accent of Sulu and Sulu’s speech bore a thick Russian one. No one seemed to notice the changes except Kirk, though, and other than the interchange of accents, everyone seemed like he or she knew their proper job and military positions within the crew.

     After his mind settled down a bit, Kirk took his place in the command chair, whereupon Uhura sauntered over, toying with her stylus in a most provocative manner while she leaned against him.

     “Tell me, darlin’ Jaimie, what’ll ye be a doin’ this fine evenin’ after duty hours?”

     Kirk looked straight ahead at the main viewscreen, in an effort to avoid eye contact with the lusciously built communications officer.

     “The same as always, Lieutenant, going to my quarters to relax.”

     “Well, if'n ye need some company, ye know I’ll be glad to drop by and help ye relax.” Thus saying, she walked back to her post with a pronounced sway to her hips.

     Kirk wiped the sudden perspiration from his forehead with the back of his hand and composed himself…or tried to.

 

     Back in Sick Bay, McCoy sat with chin propped on fists and elbows on desk top, lazily contemplating the very feminine movements of Nurse Christine Chapel.

     _Funny, I never really noticed her in this way,_ he thought. _She’s really quite attractive: those fathomless blue eyes, that fabulous figure. And I’m not that much older, certainly not old enough to be her father…older brother, maybe, but not father._

    “Christine,” he called to her as she came near his office door.

     “Yes, Doctor? Can I help you, do something for you?”

     He rose and took her pale hand. “You certainly can. Have dinner with me in my quarters tonight.”

     Nurse Chapel, pulled back her hand, eyes rounded in what seemed disbelief that McCoy would ask such a thing.  “Doctor,” she began.

     “Call me Leonard,” he said, smiling infectiously.

     “Doctor, uh, Leonard, I don’t know what to say. I mean, I’m flattered but…”

     “Come on, Christine, forget Spock for one night. Let me show you how at least one man can appreciate a beautiful woman like yourself.”

     “Doctor, I…”

     “Spock to Dr. McCoy,” the intercom demanded.

     “McCoy here,” Bones answered angrily. “What do you want, Spock?”

     Chapel backed away from McCoy’s office into the relative safety of the exam rooms and out the door of Sick Bay totally unremarked by the good doctor.

     “Doctor,” came Spock’s voice through the speaker, “I think I may have discovered something of interest concerning the problem we discussed earlier.”

     “Problem? What problem? Oh, yeah, that. Well, what is it?”

     “In reviewing the medical records, I noticed only that part of the brain governing personality and speech seem affected. Of course, one’s speech patterns are naturally part of the personality, so the two are vastly inter—”

     “Yes, yes, you long-winded so-and-so. I know that. Go on.”

     Spock’s holographic image failed to reveal the slightest amount of annoyance as he continued. “Just this, Doctor, mental powers and aptitude are not changed, only the personality.”

     “Okay, I’ll make a note of your findings. Is that all you’ve turned up since this morning? For Pete’s sake, it’s almost dinner time. Don’t tell me that efficient Vulcan mind of yours is clogging up.”

     “On the contrary, Doctor, my time was not inefficient. I detected an omission in your medical records.”

     “An omission.” McCoy was curious.

     “Yes. You neglected to conduct your own physical. Since I have noticed certain peculiarities in your behavior, also, I suggest you conduct one immediately.”

     “Hah! Don’t tell me you suddenly have a Doctorate of Space Medicine.”

     “Negative, Doctor, I am merely a scientist, one of my specialties being the observation of Human behavior, and I have observed your is not normal. Therefore, I suggest you search for the cause of the deviation. You asked for my advice, and that is it. Spock out.”

     “Damn arrogant Vulcan!” McCoy shouted, at the same time back-handing the force of his entire arm into the side of the pedestalled viewer. Unfortunately, the devise was not properly reinforced for such abuse and broke off it’s support, leaving several wires exposed and torn. McCoy strode irritably into the Infirmary area to use the comm there.

     “Maintenance. Get a team up to Sick Bay, on the double! My viewer broke off its base in my office.”

     “But, how could that have happened, Doctor McCoy?” asked an innocent, sweetly voiced ensign.

     “Never mind how, young lady. Just get that team up here.”

     Having returned to his office, the doctor paced impatiently back and forth before the broken view, turning his head occasionally to stare at the damage, until the maintenance team arrived, their utility belts hung with bags and loops holding various instruments and another, separate case which must contain wiring carried in one hand.

     “In here, in here,” McCoy roared irritably. “Hurry up and fix the damn thing. I swear, I’ve never seen such incompetence in my entire life.”

     Meekly, the two-man team dissembled the viewer and replaced it with a new one while McCoy watched with annoyance, then left.

 

     Acting on the logically devised probability that McCoy wouldn’t conduct an examination of himself nor voluntarily permit anyone else to conduct the testing, Spock waited outside Sick Bay for the chance to persuade the doctor personally, when McCoy burst through the opening door. Almost casually, Spock administered a nerve pinch at the juncture of the doctor’s neck and shoulder, picked up the then unconscious form and carried it past the astonished maintenance team into the Infirmary, where, without error, he made all the necessary adjustments for completing a total physical.

     As several lines of McCoy’s brain profile emerged on the med-viewer on the wall above the diagnostic couch, Spock nodded in mild surprise, recorded the results, then left McCoy in senseless repose while he crossed to the bio-comp viewer and programmed the medical computer for encephalographic comparison.

     The pattern now possessed by the doctor matched perfectly with the computer-selected comparison.

     “Fascinating,” Spock whispered then turned, upon hearing the other man’s groans from the other room, deciding, in this instance, escape was preferable to the physician’s predictable wrath.

 

     The next morning, after a few hours of duty, Kirk walked through the door of Sick Bay, holding his head with both hands, as he grimaced in obvious pain.

     “Bones, where are you? My head’s killing me. You must absolutely give me something.”

     “In here,” the doctor’s voice answered from his office.

     As Kirk entered, McCoy turned around to face him, bringing to evidence a very discolored and swollen eye.

     The captain of the _Enterprise_ started to laugh but thought better of it, when the mere idea caused his head to throb. “What happened, Lenny, run into a door?”

     “No, I didn’t run into a door. Christine…well, she, uh…she said I got… Oh, never mind.”

     “Christine? Nurse Chapel?”

     “Yeah, here’s your aspirin,” he said, handing Kirk two pale yellow tablets.

     “Aspirin? Don’t you have anything better? I mean the pain is really excruciating.” Kirk grimaced to strengthen his claim.

     “Excruciating, huh? Okay, have three aspirins. Take the whole damn bottle, for all I care. Nobody takes my advice, anyway. You space rookies are all alike…think a doctor doesn’t know as much as you do.”

     “Hey, Lenny, I’m sorry. Gee, I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just all those weirdos up on the Bridge finally got to me: Uhura propositioning me all the time and Scotty’s singing in Swahili and Sulu spouting about Russian inventors. It’s just too much! I finally turned the whole mess over to Spock. At least he seems capable of coping with it.”

     “Don’t mention that Vulcan’s name to me, ever again. Blasted green-blood neck-pinched me yesterday.”

     “I knew you two always seem to hate each other, but underneath it all, I thought you liked one another.”

     “Me…like that pointy-eared, green-blooded walking computer?”

     “Say, you’d better take care of that eye, Lenny. It looks pretty bad,” said Kirk, reaching out to touch the swollen tissue, analytically.

     McCoy slapped away his hand. “Who’s the doctor here, you or me?”

     “Guess I’ll go to my quarters and rest a bit,” said Kirk, backing out of the office timidly.

     “Yeah, do that,” McCoy yelled after the captain then muttered, “Damn, inappreciative pup! Can’t take anybody’s advice. Always thinks he’s right. Young whimp!”

 

     Spock sat in the command chair, his temper getting closer and closer to the breaking point, as he watched the increasing incompetence and irritability of Bridge crew. While he tried to ignore the renewed disagreement between Sulu and Chekov over whether the Asian culture predated the Russian one—a ridiculous discussion if he’d ever heard of one—he noticed the blimp of a ship on the scanners from where he sat, also visible on the viewscreen.

     “Lieutenant Uhura, contact that spacecraft. It appears to be a supply ship of some kind.

     “Aye, sir ‘tis. _The Gambusia._ Och, but that’s an odd name fer a ship.”

     “Never mind that. What is their mission here?”

     “Aye, sir, of course. They say there’s been a mistake in the maintenance revisions during our last overhaul. A faulty filter in the Bridge life support vents or somethin’. Also, they request permission to beam aboard their technician for further explanation.” Uhura turned from her console. “Imagine that! The bumbling idiot who made such a mistake ought to be court-martialed for such incompetence. I dinna ken how such a mistake could be made.”

     “Grant permission for boarding and kindly leave your opinions to yourself, Lieutenant. I shall be in Transport. Mr. Scott, you have the comm.”

 

     The technician from _The Gambusa—_ Grant Meecham by name—proved to be a diminutive man with an appropriately high-pitched, wheezy voice. His personality was timid, and he seemed quite suspicious of all the women crewmembers they passed on their way to the Captain’s quarters.

     Once there, he sat on one of the built-in benches in the rather large room and unfolded his story. “You see, gentlemen, an error was made in the chemical batch we soak the filters in, and on top of all else, the mix was stronger than usual.”

     “Of course, of course,” Kirk said, nodding in agreement. “A natural mistake.” Both the technician and Spock looked at Kirk quizzically.

     “Please continue, Mr. Meecham,” Spock urged, folding his arms across his chest.

     “Well, at the last maintenance inspection, the life support filters on some of the starship bridges were changed, and these faulty ones replaced them. I’m quite embarrassed about it, especially since there have been several incidents.”

     “Incidents, Mr. Meecham?” Spock said, raising an eyebrow in comment.

     “Yes, sir…personality switches, along with increasing irritability. There were some, however, which underwent personality changes.”

     “That’s really interesting, Mr. Meecham,” Kirk interjected again.

     Spock looked at his superior in exasperation. “Mr. Meecham,” he said, turning to face the technician once more, “am I to understand the reagent disproportion in the clarifier is the cause of the personality deviations?”

     “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

     “Sure, Spock, that’s what he said,” Kirk voiced.

     Spock ignored him. “And this chemical, how does it affect the brain in regard to this ‘switch’?”

     “Well, usually the person absorbs the personality of someone he admires or someone’s he quite close to.”

     “Which does not apply to the Captain.”

     The little man winced. “I was afraid of that.” He handed Spock a tape. “I think you’ll find the answer there, Mr. Spock.”

     The First Officer placed the tape in the desk console. With his razor-sharp memory, he instantly placed the brain pattern. “Quite interesting,” he said and removed the cassette, returning it to the technician.

     “Well, what is it, Spock?” questioned Kirk.

     “It would appear, Captain, you have absorbed Mr. Meecham’s personality.”

     “But who got mine? He certainly didn’t.”

     “On the contrary, he does exhibit some of your personality traits. Mr. Meecham,” said Spock, turning to the other man, “am I wrong in assuming your suspicions began when you discovered yourself feeling more in command in certain situations?”

     “Well, I did notice some, and that is when I began suspecting something had gone wrong.”

     “Obviously, there are still qualities of the captain’s personality which are thus far unaccounted for, cognizantly. Captain,” he said, turning his attention to Kirk, “I ran some tests of my own on a blatantly omitted personnel member from the Enterprise’s annual medical report.”

     “Well, who was it, Spock? Does he have the rest of my personality? Come on, don’t keep me in suspense.”

     “It is Doctor McCoy, sir. He has the remainder of your personality.”

    “Really, how odd. And who has yours, Spock?”

     “Mine is submerged not switched, Captain, only Doctor McCoy’s. Really quite fascinating when one considers the various way in which the substance affected those individual Bridge personnel, especially Doctor McCoy.”

     “But Bones isn’t a member of the Bridge crew.”

     “Nevertheless, he does spend an inordinate amount of time there, Captain, something I long ago relegated to his Human need to always be in the midst of things or ‘where the action is’ I believe you would say.”

     “So, how do we get back our old personalities? Speaking for myself, I don’t think I canstand another day of that bunch up there,” said Kirk, jerking his thumb upward.

     “Quite simple, gentlemen. If I may?” Meecham brought forth a slip of paper and handed it to Spock. “An easily formulated antidote for the chemical’s affects, made up from available ship’s stores. Naturally, the faulty filter will be replaced, so everyone should return to normal within a few hours.” Meecham rose from his chair. “I’m really glad you took this all so well, gentlemen. Well, guess I’ll be off.”

     Kirk took the other man’s arm. “I’ll see you to the Transporter Room, Mr. Meecham.”

     Spock followed them through the door then stopped, watching the two Humans continue down the corridor.

     “I believe I shall never tire of observing the Human species. How unique, how utterly unique and diversified they are. Truly fascinating creatures.”

 

THE END

 

 

    


End file.
